When I’m Rich

Instead of wearing bling, I’ll fill two grocery bags with stacks of cash and walk around with those. Sometimes, I’ll tell my friends I’m short on money, while carrying said bags, and promise to pay more next time – just to be a dick.

I’ll reserve a private ride on a terrifying roller coaster and pay them extra to go as slow as I want; four miles an hour, tops. I fucking hate roller coasters. You know they were a man’s brilliant idea. “We should design something that makes the general public barf and charge them twenty bucks to do it!” Meatheads.

I’ll install machine gun turrets on my high-concept home to keep the poor people out. But then I won’t have any friends, so… this one still needs work.

I’ll start a breakfast truck – our group was talking about waffle trucks on Saturday night, and I remembered dreaming about an ice cream truck that sold my favorite breakfast foods. The grown-up version of my truck has bacon waffles, blueberry pancake muffins, orange French toast, buttermilk & chive biscuits with egg, Hubbard sausage-in-a-blanket, breakfast cake with fruit, Callebaut hot chocolate – oh, the sweet possibilities. It would be a good alternative to late-night hot dogs or stale, early-morning muffins, that’s all I’m saying. I’m selling you on it already.

If I’m not just rich but also famous, I’ll pay someone else to get my implants, go vegetarian, take up an ambiguously-religious cause, adopt racially-diverse children, and have a doomed-to-fail, high profile relationship. I deserve to skip ahead, ein bisschen.

I’ll buy a small house and whitewash the bejeezus out of it. I want to feel like I’m in the middle of a snow blizzard. I want ethnic people to stand out – hey, that’s me! How convenient.

I’ll record an entire album of auto-tuned fairy tales that have realistic endings, the same kind that makes an audience leave the movie theater in horrified silence.

I’ll have Sunday brunch at Salty’s. Mostly because I’ve heard it’s like Brunch Boot Camp and I’m always up for a gastronomical challenge. They’re also serving up humans! A bold move, if you ask me.

I’ll self-publish a book filled with pictures and stories of people I can’t stand. WITH GREAT DETAIL. I call it ‘my bridge-burning book.’ Believe me when I say: this book is already written.

I’ll hire a professional to train me in the ways of competitive hot dog-eating and dedicate a full year to the sport.
I’ll hire my staff: massage therapist, chef, maid, personal assistant, beauty czar, robot banker, driver, nanny, and unicorn wrangler.

I’ll buy everyone a Coke or cocaine, depending on their preference.

I’ll buy The Gimp from Pulp Fiction and set him loose on Avril Lavigne or Perez Hilton or both.

I’ll put my unconscious neighbor in a raft, light it on fire, and set him out to sea. It’s better this way.

I’ll collect my son, nephews, and a couple of my favorite kiddos from 826 Seattle, and give them a respite from parental issues that no amount of money can fix. Money can get us to Disneyland, though, and buy us a lot of ice cream. I’ll buy some subtle t-shirts for them to wear home, something that says, ‘My Mommy’s Fucked-Up Mindgames Are RuiningMy Chance At A Healthy Childhood And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt.’ Maybe I’ll have one made for my son that says, ‘My Dad Smokes In the House Because He Doesn’t Give A Shit & All I Got Was This Stupid Cancer.’ Excuse me while I go punch something.

I’ll buy the City of Portland. I’ll tell all of my good friends and family to get out. Then I’ll torch the motherfucker. Some of you Seattleites really suck at being from Seattle. ‘Portland is so much better than Seattle! That’s where the real artists are! That’s where the cute neighborhoods are! It’s more authentic down there! They’ve got better public transportation! Their zoo is better! Housing prices are better! Their strip clubs are better! They’ve got a cooler scene!’ THEN GO FUCKING LIVE THERE, YOU FAKE SEATTLE HIPSTER. Oh, Portland has already been torched to a crisp? My bad.

(P.S. I love Portland. I just hate preachy Portland wannabes in Seattle. It’s not that far away – moving there can’t be all that hard. A Portland Utopia awaits you!)

I’ll have the movie Amistad remade into a romantic comedy. Just because I can.

I’ll start a band called Roff La Mayo, and we’ll sing inappropriate punchlines in the traditional Mexican corrido style. And we’ll eat a lot of tacos.

I’ll pay Jodie Foster to come out of the closet, and then maybe pay her to date me. Technically, I’d like to date Clarice Starling from Silence of the Lambs, but that comes with a whole other set of issues. Like sensible pumps and serial killers.

I’ll buy my way into the hearts of the American people, like Oprah did.

I’ll buy a home in Iceland and conduct my own genetic research in an attempt to make our world an entire race of lily-white superhumans.

i would like a blow dart kit and hit mayor nickle and dime us, so that we can keep the viaduct, or at least get the surface street option we the city VOTED ON…..fucking potato head mayor!
great bloggin snotty!

ugh @ portland. And anywhere else that people move in order to be cool for that matter. so I guess ugh @ seattle in the years 1995-2002. No wait let me amend that: ugh @ capitol hill, ballard and columbia city. The U-district, Lynnwood and White Center are all still unhip enough to be authentic.

aaahahaha Iceland. The Mann and I are seriously contemplating moving there in a year or two. We’re going to start a whole new indie scene based on pony rock. And open up an ironic tshirt shop or vegan burger stand or something.

White Center is getting cooler because of the West Seattle hipster contingency. They even have a neighborhood blog; I’m pretty sure it’s more popular than our ‘hood blog, which covers Ravenna and part of the U-District. LOL @ pony rock/ironic tshirt shop in Iceland – TAKE ME WITH YOU. That’s my #1 place to visit right now, and has been for the past six years. It’s a *little* pricey to get there, so I’ll probably go after I sue someone and win.